by Summa, S. E.
Seraphina braved another step. Just one sip. Only one bite. She would be forever sated. Her skin flushed as she imagined feasting on the bounty before her. A wave of dizziness made her reach out blindly and grab the bedpost for support. Her shield shuddered against a powerful, familiar energy. The veil was open.
On the bed, the corpse inhaled a sudden loud breath. The dead man shook violently on the huge mattress. He sat up and locked glowing eyes with hers. Sagging skin exposed the pink inner flesh of his eyelids. His stiff arms extended slowly outward and forced his sleeves up, revealing impossibly thin arms. He was so pale and opaque that blue veins corded beneath his skin. The maw of the skeletal face opened and revealed blackened gums with teeth sharper than any normal man should have. His eyes had already clouded over with a slight pallor of death, yet the opalescent pupils were intently focused on Seraphina’s green eyes.
The corpse ripped the neck of his damp pajamas open and exposed an age-spotted chest. He appeared so frail that each unnatural beat of his heart fluttered frantically, visibly beneath his skin. His ribs creaked as they expanded and contracted to draw deep breaths. A noise wheezed from his throat, at first, whisper soft, but it grew stronger with each breath. The echoing, hollow sound increased into a screech.
He screamed, “Free me, girl. Eat the bread, drink the wine, and free me.”
Seraphina shook her head and tried to focus. The man before her screamed with such ferocity that long lines of spit dribbled down from his chin. His body shook in the moments before he inhaled deeply, followed by another scream. Veins stood out on his neck in unnatural ways and his head tilted back as he shrieked, “I am Odol. Eat. Drink. I command you to release me.”
Phyllis cried in terror at her brother’s transformation.
Seraphina took a long step back.
With a loud crack, Virgil’s jaw broke from the intensity of his screams. The bottom half of his face drooped against the rise and fall of his bared bony chest.
His gray tongue flicked from side to side as if it had a mind of its own. He had lost the ability to form distinguishable words, but his blood-curdling screeches continued.
A faint thread of fear made Seraphina step back again. But it was as if someone else stood in the opulent room witnessing the terrible scene while she observed from a safe distance. Her head rocked back as another wave of dark magic pulsed through her. She was reminded of the thick, velvety wine the woman had poured into the chalice and the browned, buttery crust of the bread. Seraphina leaned in and inhaled, pushing her senses beyond the smells of sickness, sweat, and death that emanated from the unfortunate man on the bed. She wanted to find the intoxicating aromas of the wine, the yeasty notes of the bread.
The possessed man continued to scream as Finn and the corpse’s sister looked on in absolute horror. Finn supported Phyllis’s weight. She was too gripped by terror for her previous aversion to his touch now. When he let go of Phyllis, Finn snatched the ceremonial silver knife from the bed and plunged it deep into the corpse’s chest.
Seraphina screamed and clutched her own chest.
Dark blood sprayed across the dead man’s chest and onto Finn’s pale face in fine droplets.
The darkness gripping her mind slipped, and Seraphina pushed against it with all her might.
Virgil’s possessed heart slowed when the magically blessed silver dagger had penetrated its chambers. Congealed blood spurted from the wound with each heartbeat.
A thick sucking noise came from Odol’s throat as his scream lowered again to a moan, and then to a mere whisper.
The corpse shot Finn a final look of hatred before it fell backward, blood flowing down its ribs onto the bed.
Seraphina dropped to her knees… gasping for air… the fog in her mind clearing. “Wh-what was that?”
Finn answered, “Odol tried to possess Virgil’s body, but in its weakened condition, he could not keep his hold. I believe he was trying to get you to ingest his sins and somehow possess you.” Finn helped her up. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Are you okay?”
“I think so. I wanted to—”
Finn interrupted, “I want you to leave. Now. Go. Wait outside. I still have to finish here, but you should go.”
“No, Finn. I understand this now. I was able to expel his grip on my mind. We have to hurry, but I think I can shield us both for a short time.”
“Sera…”
She grabbed Finn’s left hand and began reconstructing her shield, this time sending the energy over and around them both. When the force was in place, Seraphina focused all her energy on strengthening it.
Now, Finn.
Finn’s hand tightened, and he turned to her, his eyes wide. I heard you in my mind, love.
She nodded. I hear you too. Just do it while I have the strength to hold the shield in place. A black mist is swirling around the body. It’s darkening. I think Odol’s coming back.
Finn shook his head. His eyes pleading. I can see his sins. Innumerable ones have transferred from Odol and now fester on Virgil’s corpse. You might feel them too.
Seraphina said out loud, “There’s no time for this. The mist is flowing back into his body. Eat his sins now. Drink the wine, hurry.”
Phyllis grabbed the chalice of expensive, French wine and held it out to Finn. “Here, drink of my brother’s sins. Please, lay him to rest like you promised our mother.”
Finn sucked in his lower lip and nodded. His anguish was tangible to Seraphina as he made his decision. He raised the black hood back over his head. She understood. He wore the hood to hide the pain he suffered during the ceremony.
Finn took the chalice and held it over the body. The runes on the silver cup shifted their glow from white to bright red. Raising it to his lips, he knew he’d have to drink far more than just the sins of Virgil now.
The dagger would not hold Odol for long. Already, the wound was trying to close and push the dagger out.
Finn choked as he drank the thick, viscous wine. Thoughts of Seraphina kept him swallowing despite the wine’s rancid taste. Long ago, he had sworn to protect her. He’d already gone to extraordinary lengths to keep his word, and now he gathered his strength to finish the putrid brew.
Extraordinary lengths? Seraphina asked.
Finn’s posture stiffened as he lowered the chalice while Phyllis placed the ceremonial black cloth on her brother’s bloodied chest and laid a piece of bread on the cloth.
“Better make it two slices.” Finn coughed beneath his black cloak. His shoulders quaked as he fought to not heave and choke. His hand tightened on Seraphina’s. She was gagging too.
Phyllis placed the second piece of bread on Virgil’s corpse and stepped away.
He and Seraphina both shuddered, sharing the thought of how the bread would taste. Finn glanced at her. The wine only creates the link with the sinner. The bread holds the sin. I will not let you experience that. Release me. I will finish the ceremony alone.
She shook her head side to side.
Release my hand or we leave and the corpse lies unprotected. I will not have you ingest his sins, Seraphina.
“Are you sure you can?” Seraphina whispered.
“Only one way to find out.”
He squeezed her hand, then pulled his away.
Seraphina took one long stride away from the bed. But instead of severing the shield, she pushed more power toward him, adding a wall around her own thoughts to keep Finn from knowing she still shielded him.
With a deep breath, Finn bit into the first piece of bread. Images flooded Seraphina’s mind. They flashed like images on a screen. Men had been beaten and hung from a second-story patio of this very house in the pursuit of Virgil’s illicit business.
The roof of Seraphina’s mouth ached, and she realized Finn’s was burning and blistered as if scorched by hot molten liquid. Through the opening in his hood, she watched his throat convulse when he choked down yet another bite. Violent images of people being tortured flashed through her mind once more.
Manacles, whips, red molten brands, Virgil had enjoyed torturing his enemies.
Finn had swallowed three large bites before the horrified screams of the victims forced his gag reflex to kick in. The echoes of their screams overwhelmed Seraphina, and she pressed her hands against her ears. She wanted to drop her shield from Finn, anything to stop the ringing screeches of pain, but she held fast.
Finn’s body lurched forward as he continued to force down the bread.
More images flashed before their eyes—explosions, pools of blood, corpses, and a beautiful, young woman with bruises and torn clothes.
Poor Willa. Finn couldn’t imagine her pain even now, experiencing it second-hand. He managed to finish the last bite as her shrieks echoed through his mind. Miraculously, he’d completed the first piece of sin-laced bread.
Seraphina checked the corpse. The dagger was free and lay at the body’s side. Blood streamed up the ribs and back into the wound. Odol was recuperating.
Finn had to hurry to consume the second piece of bread before the corpse recovered from the dagger wound, or all would be lost.
Seraphina wanted to collapse from the effort of holding her shield around them both and the horror of seeing the sins Finn had ingested. She locked her knees and reached out for the bedpost to keep herself upright. Fearing the worst was yet to come, Seraphina pushed even more power into their protection.
By then, Finn had picked up the second piece of bread. He took the first bite and swallowed it with minimal chewing.
More gruesome images of torture played in their minds with so many victims burned, the faces blurred together in a torrent of pain. The tools of torture were older, more severe. These sins were much too old for Virgil to have committed them. The sins of the father now flooded their consciousness. How many sins had Virgil siphoned from his father during the brief possession?
Seraphina felt Finn’s internal struggle. He’d eaten countless sins and relived the most evil, desperate deeds of the supernaturals he serviced. But never had he struggled so much to complete his duty.
Again, he pictured Seraphina and drew strength from his promise to her. Tears flowed down her cheeks when she realized he used his love for her and their friendship to hold his sanity while he consumed the evil of others. Another bite and one of Finn’s teeth loosened as his gums were singed by the blazing sins he consumed.
Atrocities throughout the ages flooded Seraphina’s mind until she honed in on a medieval dungeon. Desperate pleas rang out from men whose hope for survival had been abandoned long ago. The disfigured prisoners begged for the mercy only death could provide.
Finn swallowed down the sin. One more bite and he would finish his task. Steeling himself for the worst, Finn placed the now rotten, blackened bread on his tongue and groaned as images of children sprang before his eyes.
The corpse breathed in a long choked breath and exhaled in a gleeful, hissing laugh. It was too late for Odol to survive, but he was laughing at the immense pain the Sin Eater endured.
Seraphina gagged. Her thoughts and senses were overwhelmed by the past evil deeds of Virgil and Odol. The Possessed had fed on the innocent to sate his hellish hunger.
How had Finn been able to endure this? She wasn’t eating or feeling the sin, merely witnessing it, and she feared she would never be the same. Horrified, Seraphina’s shield finally collapsed. She fell to her knees and sobbed. No strength left.
Finn swallowed down the last bite and grasped his stomach. He slowly lowered himself onto the floor, easing near where she knelt and curling into a ball, wracked by full body retching. He fought off the waves of nausea.
Seraphina had never deluded herself into believing his power was pleasant, but in her worst nightmares, she never comprehended the extent of his suffering.
Finn’s body convulsed and his muscles clenched. He cried out, unwilling to release evil back into the world, containing the sin at any cost.
Their link was severed, but she understood Finn must be feeling the sins from the perspective of the victims by now. He’d told her it was the final step before atonement.
Seraphina gently pulled him into her lap and rocked, comforting him the best she could. She whispered soothing phrases hoping he could hear her. At last, Finn’s body stilled and he drifted into merciful unconsciousness as the penance was paid. The energy and power from the sins had dissipated.
She pulled back his hood and wiped away the tears streaming down his face.
Virgil’s body was finally at rest, and Odol was cast out. They were all safe.
Seraphina spoke around the knot in her throat, “Phyllis, we would like to go home now. But I’m not sure I can drive.”
The tearful woman stood and pushed away from the wall she’d been using for support. She smoothed back her hair and shook Addams’ shoulder. He awoke and started to stand. “Help Finn to the car. Take them home and see they make it safely.”
Addams rose on shaky legs, also using the wall for support.
“Should I drive them myself?” Phyllis snapped.
“No, of course not, ma’am.” Addams shook his head. He carefully picked up Finn, cradling him in his arms like a child.
Phyllis helped Seraphina to her feet.
Addams drove them back to the apothecary and carried Finn, unconscious and burning with fever, to his room.
Seraphina’s thoughts replayed the images and sounds from Virgil’s bedside. She feared she was going into shock because it seemed like a dream or a movie she had watched more than actual events. Already, she had forgotten the worst images in self protection. But those sins had nearly destroyed her best friend.
Finn needed her full attention now. She had nursed him on many occasions after eating heavy sin, but his current condition was obviously more dire than she wanted to admit.
Seraphina tried to ignore the temptation she’d felt deep in her bones to open herself to the Possessed. Tonight, she would let her mind stay busy and distracted.
In the light of day tomorrow, however, she’d have to face the temptation. The overwhelming desire she’d felt to her core had called for a surrender to evil. What had she almost done? Yes, she definitely had questions for Finn, if he survived and was sane enough to answer them.
Chapter Seven
Marceau awoke when a body pressed against his chest. His arms felt heavy, like lead, yet were suspended above him. He moved numb fingers, opened his eyes, but couldn’t focus well in the faint light. Something dug into his wrists, and he tried to pull his hands up to his face, but his shoulders lifted instead.
Restraints.
Vespa.
Marceau jerked against the manacles on his wrists. The heavy wooden headboard rattled but nothing else moved.
“Sh, be still, Marceau,” a voice whispered.
The person on top of him shifted slightly, and the binding of his left wrist loosened.
“Lynette?”
“I said to shush,” Lynette said. “I’m not supposed to be in here.”
Marceau pulled his hand free. She moved across his chest, tugging, trying to find slack in his other restraint. He reached up to help and was able to slip his hand out.
Lynette slid off him and murmured, “Hurry. Everyone else is still asleep. Vespa went out to feed, but I don’t know for how long.”
Marceau rubbed his wrists. “She must’ve drugged me. Something in a glass of water.”
Lynette whispered, “You should have known better than to trust her.” She stood after her second try and threw a pile of clothes at his chest. “Dress. Hurry. I’ll meet you in the hallway.”
Opening a curtain as she left, he noticed the sun rising. It had to be Friday. There was no way Vespa would risk angering Max by keeping Marceau from his trip to Nashville.
Marceau slid on a white T-shirt and winced. He lifted it and ran his hand across his skin. Finely lined cuts traced down his stomach, some circled in red lipstick. Vespa hadn’t fed in her preferred way, but she’d found a way to taste him anyway.
&n
bsp; Slipping into jeans and buttoning them as he stormed out, Marceau met Lynette down the hall. She held up an old pair of his shoes. He hopped on one foot while pulling on each tennis shoe.
“I owe you one, Lynette.”
“At this point, you owe me ten.”
She held out his car keys and smiled. Marceau started to take them, then paused. She was probably right. Lynette was certainly not anything near a maternal figure for him, but she had been a constant presence in his life. And she’d been there when it truly counted, helping him get out of trouble. He’d tried to return the favor when he was younger, but in the past few years, he avoided the manor as much as possible.
Marceau asked, “The ballerina?”
“She’s resting in my room. But I’d stay clear of Babette for a while if I were you. She’s blaming you as much as Maximilian for what happened. I’ll explain things after she’s had more time to accept everything. I think she has some kind of power, Marceau. We’ll need her as an ally.”
Marceau nodded and finally accepted the keys. He stared at them, deciding. “Max’s punishments are getting worse, but you still try to escape. Wherever you try to go… you know he will find you.”
Lynette’s smile dropped. “I know I’ll never be free from him. Honestly, I gave up that dream long ago, but I have to keep trying. Otherwise, I’ll go insane. I’ll be like him. I know I’ll never get far, but to feel freedom for just a little while… to walk alone in the city… see humanity and normal life… have time to myself where he isn’t nearby. That’s why I run.”
Marceau’s decision was made. He grasped the key and twisted it free of the key chain. He’d carried it every day for three years. His own secret little insurance policy.
Marceau held it out to Lynette.
“What’s that for?”
“For helping me.”
She took the key and turned it in her palm. It seemed only a mundane skeleton key, tarnished and nicked. She blinked at it and took a breath. “I feel it. It’s charmed. Magic is tightly wound around it.”